Rifiuto: Non Miriena
A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia
Arjiki Encampment,
Thousand Year Grasslands,
Day Five
A flurry of excitement filled the air, though none could say from where it came. Perhaps from the West, on the river's shimmering surface. Or perhaps from the East, on the breeze. But whichever direction it chose, one thing was certain.
Something was coming.
Good or bad, something would happen today, and no one would be prepared when it did.
The sound of hoof-beats came upon the breeze, getting louder and closer, until everyone had gathered in the center of the village. Men, women and children, old and young alike, watched in surprise as a horse rode into the center of the village; it had been riding all night and into that early morning. Once it finally stopped, a young man got down, patting the horse's muzzle before helping his companion down.
Gasps could be heard through; the man possessed green diamonds- in a pattern similar to Sarima's, though he was dressed in white man's clothes, as was his companion. The commotion brought the Crown Prince and medicine woman from the Chief's tent; the shaman stayed to continue his ministrations. Fiyero didn't have to say a word, as the commotion died down. He scanned the others in the tribe, before slowly turning to the newcomers. The diamonds he recognized, because they were similar to his wife's, and after a moment, he made his way towards the man, not noticing the woman at his side. "Chi sei? Perché sei venuto?"
The newcomer studied the prince, a flash of recognition sparking in his gaze. Fiyero. So the little boy who'd followed him around for years, doing everything he'd done, had finally grown up; no longer scrawny child of seven or eight, but a strapping young man near twenty-two moons, the princess's husband, the father of her three children-
A moment passed, before he nodded to the younger man, acknowledging his status. "Non mi riconosci, mio principe? Sei stata la mia ombra costante, per anni, finché non sono stata rubata dagli stessi bianchi che hanno rubato tua moglie."
Fiyero's gaze narrowed in suspicion. "Come osi parlare di mia moglie, quando è stato il tuo popolo a rubarla alla mia tribù!" He moved to strike the young man, but the woman darted between them.
"No!"
The prince stopped, finally seeing the man's companion for the first time. She looked so similar to Elphaba-
Similar dark hair, same dark eyes, same small build and milky white skin- He shook his head. No, this was not his wife. This was the wrong white. She may have looked like his wife, but she was younger that Elphaba, her skin lighter than his wife's had been when she'd been stolen, for her time in the sun had slowly darkened her skin to a soft tan. It had not hid the whiteness beneath, but it had lessened it some, not that Fiyero or anyone else in the tribe cared. She was still beautiful, still Arjiki.
"Chi sei?"
She turned to the man, not understanding, and after a moment, he translated for her. It was this realization that the man spoke both languages that stopped everyone, but the name he spoke that brought Sarima to Fiyero's side. "Nessarose. Questo è Nessarose."
"E tu?"
The man swallowed softly, his gaze flicking to the older woman at Fiyero's side. "Tibbett, il mio principe."
A startled murmur soon broke out; but Fiyero ignored it. He studied the older man, noting the little differences in his appearance. But Sarima, standing by Fiyero's side, choked on a cry, covering her mouth with her hands. She shook her head, even though the diamonds on his face spoke the truth. "No! No, figlio mio... mio figlio è morto... Rubato... strappato dalle mie braccia dai bianchi stessi... molte, molte lune fa..."
Tibbett pulled away from Nessa, going towards Sarima, slowly, cautiously, his voice soft, even, so as not to startle her. "Tredici anni fa, mamma. Centosessantanove lune. Ho contato ogni luna come è passata, ho contato gli anni che sono passati, e ho pregato che tu non mi dimenticassi. Ho pregato, per tredici anni, che tu ti ricordi di me, ricorda il ragazzo bianco che hai adottato come tuo, che amavi come tuo, e che ti amava, e che ti ama ancora, nonostante le molte lune che sono passate e mi hanno tenuto lontano dalla mia tribù , dalla mia famiglia. Ti prego, mamma, ti ricordi di me?" He stopped before her, not reaching for her, doing nothing but waiting; waiting for Sarima to look at him, to reach for him. Slowly, Sarima did, looking up at the young man before her, studying him, drinking in his features.
He had gotten older, yes, but so had she. The years had been as kind as they could to him, though he wore the lines of loss and heartbreak deep around his eyes; eyes that had cried many, many tears for the loss of his family, his tribe. Her gaze flicked over each diamond, still fresh as the day they had been done, and slowly, she reached up, brushing her fingers against the diamonds on his cheek. She remembered the pattern, remembered the fear in his voice as the shaman had brought out the needles, how he'd clung to her hand as the ritual had started. Something in his eyes sparked, something she recognized; a glimmer of that little boy who had come running to embrace her many a time, who had climbed into bed with her when he suffered a nightmare, who had clung to her the day the whites had come and ripped him from her arms.
"Madre, per favore."
It came back to her like an earthquake; his screams for her as he was dragged from the tent, thrown onto a horse and taken away; those screams that echoed in her memory to this very day, calling her, reaching for her across the years. "Madre! Madre!"
Tears slid down her cheeks, and she choked on a sob. "Tibbett. My son. Oh, my son!"
She engulfed him in her arms, holding him against her, fresh tears racing down her cheeks as he buried his face in her shoulder, his arms going tight around her, finally, reunited with the woman who had been his mother from the moment he arrived in the tribe, after all these years. Nessa, Fiyero and the rest of the tribe watched as mother and son were reunited after so many moons apart. Tears slid down Nessa's cheeks as she glanced at Fiyero, the man who was her brother-in-law, as her own words rang loud in her head, the truth of them standing before her.
A mother never forgets her child.